


Code 286

by StarAmongStones



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Marriage of Convenience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-03-12 00:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3338129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarAmongStones/pseuds/StarAmongStones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Marry me.”</p><p>Stiles blinks. “Run that by me again?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. marriage

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about immigration, so suspend your disbelief here and now.  
> Also this is grossly sappy. You have been warned.  
> And finally, this has been edited. It's been a year. It's gotten better.

“Marry me.”

It can’t be later than seven in the morning because Stiles was still dead asleep when the knocking started. Really, the only logical explanation for being dragged out of bed for an out-of-the-blue marriage proposal from _Derek Hale_ of all people is that he’s still dreaming. He blinks sleepily at Derek, makes a weird rumble in the back of his throat that’s supposed to convey, _okay, this is really weird_ , and then closes the door, all set to return to bed where it’s nice and warm and normal. Well, as normal as sleeping in the childhood bed you haven’t touched in months during the school break can be.

Derek slaps a hand on the door to stop it from closing and gives Stiles an unimpressed look.

The door is knocked back slightly by the force of Derek’s hand and bumps back into Stiles. The fact that he can feel the edge digging into his hipbone tells him that this is not, in fact, a dream. Go figure.

He tries to rub some of the sleep from his eyes, cocks his head to the side a little so his ear is _just_ a bit closer to Derek, and says, “Run that by me again?”

Derek heaves this put-upon sigh like he’s annoyed he has to explain why he wants Stiles to-

“Marry. Me. It’s only two words, Stiles. It’s not that hard.”

“Woah, okay,” Stiles says, holding his hands up in front of him. He also steps out onto his front porch and shuts the door behind him because he has a feeling this is going to be a long conversation. “Slow down the sass train. It’s too early for that. I understand the words, just not the context. Because you and I?” He motions between them obnoxiously, but he kind of feels like it’s allowed because he’s maybe freaking out just a little right now. “We are not dating. Unless…do you think we’re dating?”

Rolling his eyes, Derek deadpans, “Yes, Stiles. We’ve been dating for the last three years. I’m just taking things really slow.”

“Okay, that was a totally valid question. We see weirder stuff every day. Magic spells or mind control or whatever aren’t such weird guesses.”

“Witches aren’t real.”

“And we will come back to how you know that at a later date, but for now let’s focus on the marriage and my second guess, which is that you’re in love with me and are skipping a step because I had this teacher once whose daughter-“

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts. “Shut up.”

Stiles eyes him warily. “That wasn’t a denial.”

“Oh my god, Stiles. I’m not in love with you.”

“Why didn’t you lead with that?” Stiles practically shouts. “Sweet baby Jesus, you scared me.”

“I just need a green card,” Derek says. He makes aggressive eye contact while he says it, too; giving the impression that Stiles is not allowed to say _no_ to this.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Stiles takes a deep breath and says, “For the love of all that is holy, explain everything. From the beginning. I’m not going to just blindly ask questions until I figure out the whole story.”

“It’s not a story.” Derek shrugs. “I was born in Peru, my student visa ran out a while ago, and now I can’t apply for a job because I’ve been living here illegally too long.”

Stiles takes a moment to process this. That actually kind of makes sense. All the Hales he’s met are fluent in at least three South American languages – he still can’t believe that information is genuinely relevant to his life – and it finally explains why the hell Cora ended up there. Somewhere. Wherever she is.

It’s still strange to him that he _still_ hasn’t figured Derek out yet. He’s pretty sure he has most of the big pieces of the puzzle, like Kate and family and emotions Derek tries desperately to pretend he doesn’t have, but then sometimes he’ll be hit with this new smaller piece and it’ll fit so perfectly that Stiles will think, _I really don’t know you at all, do I?_ After all these years, Derek’s still as much of a mystery to Stiles as he is a mostly-acquaintance-borderline-friend-thing.

Finally, Stiles rejoins the conversation and asks, “You’re trying to get a job?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In America,” Derek deadpans.

“Open communication is an important part of every good marriage, Derek.” Stiles will never be too tired or confused to rile Derek up. It’s basically instinct at this point.

“So you’ll do it?” Derek asks, already turning to make a break for his car.

“Hold up there, Silverquick. I never said that. Why don’t you ask someone else?”

Derek shakes his head. “Everyone I know is in a relationship already.”

Lie. Such a huge, blatant untruth. But he knows _everyone_ is really _Scott_ , aka the only person Derek would actually willingly enter into this arrangement with, so he says, “Lydia’s not,” just to be a dick.

“She used me.”

“Your uncle used you. And her. Let it go.” After a pause, Stiles clarifies, “Let your grudge against _her_ go. Keep the one against Peter.”

Derek is getting visibly irritated with this conversation, which, _good_. At least they’re on the same page here. Because as much fun as he’s having pushing Derek’s buttons, he’s kind of annoyed. One, why did this have to happen at fucking _dawn_? And two, Derek is assuming Stiles will just agree to this without asking questions, which is dragging out the process to a ridiculous degree. Sure, Stiles will end up helping because that’s just what he does, but Derek should know by now that Stiles likes information. If Derek has it then he should share it, but he’s not out of embarrassment or some other stupid-ass reason and it’s irking the hell out of Stiles.

“Look,” Derek huffs, “would you just do it? You of all people still need me here to save your ass. This is as much for you as it is for me.”

Stiles groans. “Are you talking about that incident with Betsy? Because I still say you were a little claw-happy. I mean, she knew my order by heart. Waitresses like that don’t come along every day.”

“She tried to eat your liver.”

“We all have our flaws.”

Derek opens his mouth like he’s going to keep arguing, but seems to think better of it and says, “Fine. I’ll get someone else to do it.”

Stiles lets him get about halfway back to his car before he says, “Under no circumstances do we tell my dad we’re defrauding the federal government.” Derek stops and turns to look back at Stiles, but doesn’t move to walk back to the porch. “We tell him this is supernaturally-related. And I want a nice ring. If it comes from Wal-Mart, I will personally escort your ass back to Peru myself.”

Derek never says _thank you_ , but he does come back three days later with a ring that feels heavy enough to be real and willingly stays for the conversation with Stiles’ dad so Stiles is okay with calling it even.

After that, it’s almost too easy. They fill out a surprisingly little amount of paperwork and get married in Stiles’ backyard. His dad officiates while Scott and Kira stand in as witnesses. It is not a disaster. (For the most part. It gets kind of awkward when his dad says, “You may now ki-uh,” and then coughs, waves a hand, and says, “you know.” Stiles goes for a handshake.)

“I still don’t get why you two needed to get married,” his dad says when they’re all seated around the kitchen table with a slice of cake from Derek’s favorite bakery. Because Derek apparently has a favorite bakery. Who knew? “Why does this- what did you say it was again?”

“Uh,” Stiles stalls, “a chibelreth.”

Derek coughs, poorly hiding a laugh. He leans back in his seat, out of the sheriff’s line of sight, and mouths, _That’s not a real thing_ , at Stiles.

 _Nerd_ , Stiles mouths back. There are weirder-sounding creatures out there than _chibelreth_ , which means Derek’s probably at least read, if not memorized, the entire Beastiary at this point to be able to call him on his bullshit. Which actually makes sense. Scott did tell him a while back that Derek didn’t have a tv in the loft, and a man can only work out for so long.

His dad looks steadily more confused. “I thought you said it started with a _j_.”

“Nope! Who wants more cake? I’m going to get a second slice.” He proceeds to shove the entire half a piece left on his plate into his mouth, much to the disgust of his dad and Derek and the delight of Scott and Kira, and desperately attempts to swallow during his trip to the counter for more.


	2. moving in

Like the act of getting married, marriage itself is surprisingly a breeze. Mostly because nothing changes. Stiles heads back to college for sophomore year, lives in his own place, and even goes on a couple of dates. He kind of almost forgets he’s actually married until Scott transfers to a different college with a better veterinary program. He’s still close enough that they can see each other every couple of weeks, but not close enough that they can share an apartment anymore. Which means Stiles has to move because it just wouldn’t be the same living there without Scott. And, more importantly, Stiles can definitely not afford the place on his own.

“You could always call Kyle,” Scott says, tossing a duffle bag of dirty clothes in the trunk of his mom’s little Ford Tempo.

Stiles barely lets Scott get the words out before he scoffs. “Scott, within the first five minutes of meeting the guy, he legitimately said to me, word for word, ‘Don’t you think it’s pretty egocentric to assume we’re the only beings in the galaxy?’ No. I can’t live with that.”

Finished packing the car, Scott turns to Stiles with a bemused look. “But you think that too.”

“Yes, but I don’t go around telling complete strangers! If I, of all people, think this guy is too weird to live with, there’s clearly something wrong with him.” Sadly, Kyle was still better than the four other people who answered Stiles’ Craigslist ad for a roommate. He honestly will never be able to look at a hairbrush the same way after Interviewee Number Three (who no longer has a name in Stiles’ head because he’d like to disassociate himself with literally everything about that interview).

“Well, at least you have a few weeks to figure it out,” Scott says, ever the optimist. Then he grins like he does when he thinks he’s being hilarious and says, “Plus, you know, if nothing shakes out you can always move in with your husband.”

 

The thing is, it’s not a bad idea. Sure, Stiles scoffs at the idea initially. He and Scott have a good laugh about it in the parking lot, _all can you imagine?_ , and _I would break that man in three days_ , but as Stiles lets himself back into his apartment for one of the last times, he starts to actually think about it. They already know each other. They’ve already seen each other at their absolute worst, so nothing like morning grumpiness or weird kitchen habits are likely to shock or horrify them. And, although he likes to pretend otherwise, he does actually like Derek as a person. For the most part.

He’s pretty sure Derek likes him too. Enough, at least, that Stiles packs up all his worldly belongings, drives the thirty minutes back to Beacon Hills, and lets himself into Derek’s loft a week later. The, “Honey, I’m home. Did you miss me?” he calls out is probably pushing it, but what can Stiles say? He’s never been one to not make a scene.

“I gave you that key for emergencies only,” Derek say from the kitchen. “You had better be dying.” There’s a pause, then, “If you’re not, I can arrange it.”

“You just want the insurance money.” Stiles drags his suitcase behind him as he heads upstairs. “I’m taking the guest bedroom.”

Hauling two suitcases up a spiral staircase is probably one of the stupidest undertakings he’s ever attempted, but by the time he realizes it would be so much faster to just take them up one at a time, he’s already a fourth of the way up and stubbornly refuses to quit.

Stiles never actually hears Derek leave the kitchen, and probably won’t because he’s panting like he’s just run all the way here from his old apartment , but he's pretty sure Derek will follow him eventually. The curiosity has to get to him at some point. Not that Stiles particularly wants that because, let’s face it, this all would be so much easier if Derek waits to tell Stiles _no_ until after Stiles has already moved all his stuff in, but Stiles knows he’s going to have to explain himself. It’s just a matter of when.

The conversation comes sooner rather than later when, about halfway up the stairs, he hears, “What are you doing?”

“Moving in, obviously,” Stiles says. He picks up the pace a bit, too, because conversations on staircases are awkward and he kind of feels like Derek is talking to his ass.

“No.”

Yeah. There it is.

“What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine. I’m pretty sure that was in our vows, dearest.”

Stiles pauses at the top of the stairs because he can’t remember which door leads to the bedroom. _His_ bedroom. He goes with the door to the right and finds a closet stacked with fluffy-looking towels of all shapes and sizes, all in black.

“You ever think about branching out your color scheme?” Stiles asks, shutting that door and moving on to the next. Or, at least trying to. He gets about three steps before Derek stops him with a hand to his chest.

“No. Whatever you’re doing, take it somewhere else.”

“The only thing I’m doing is moving in.” Stiles wiggles his ring finger at Derek, showing off the ring he deliberately slipped on for the first time since the ceremony before heading over to Derek’s. “I did you a huge favor. You owe me one.”

“No I don’t,” Derek says, but he doesn’t quite sound convinced.

Stiles opens door number two with a grin.

 

About an hour later – no thanks to Derek, who sat on the couch the entire time and watched as Stiles struggled with box after box with what Stiles was pretty sure was vindictive amusement – Stiles is semi-moved into his new place and feeling pretty good about things. Sure, Derek didn’t lift a finger to help, but he never actively tried to stop Stiles from moving in either. Stiles is choosing to view that as tacit compliance.

He doesn’t really bother to unpack anything other than the food items. So, ketchup and mustard go in the fridge, pre-packaged food goes in the pantry, and the coffee maker goes on the counter right next to the sink.

When he plugs it in, he finds that the clock on the front has somehow broken in the move and refuses to be set, only flashing the bottom half of numbers at Stiles no matter how many times he pushes the set buttons.

“Hey,” Stiles calls out, poking his head around the wall into the living room where Derek is now reading on the couch. “Where’s your coffee maker? Mine’s broken, and I want to make sure I know where yours is so I can find it with my sleep-addled brain tomorrow morning.”

Derek looks up and shakes his head. “I don’t have one.”

“You-“ Stiles starts, horrified. “You don’t _have_ one? Who doesn’t own a coffee maker?”

“Exercise is a better stimulant,” Derek says with a shrug.

Stiles stares at him. “I have never hated you more than I do in this moment.”

The way Derek tries to bite down on a smile finally clues Stiles in that-

“You’re messing with me,” Stiles says, eyes narrowed.

“Cora took mine with her and I never got around to buying another one.”

“So you just went cold turkey?” Stiles asks. “Wait, do werewolves get caffeine headaches?”

“No,” Derek says. “To both of your questions. I go to the café around the corner for coffee now.”

Stiles shakes his head and says, “Way too expensive for me. I’m going to go buy a new one from Target. Do you need anything? Because if you do you’re going to have to come along. I’m not going to do your shopping for you.”

“Then the point of offering was to, what, be an asshole?”

“Mostly,” Stiles agrees with a grin. “I’m also setting boundaries. Don’t expect me to cook and clean and do the shopping just because we’re married now. I’m not your wife.”

Derek sighs. “I literally never thought you would do any of that.”

“Yes. Because I am excellent at establishing boundaries. Now, are you coming or not?”

After a moment, Derek says, “Sure. Let’s go.”

 

It takes about a week for Stiles to realize he never asked Derek what job was so important he needed a green card for it.

They’re eating lunch on the couch, watching a re-run of _Die Hard_ , and Stiles can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever love a job as much as John McClain loves his, which prompts Stiles to blurt out, “Did you ever get that job I married you for?” But he sort of knows the answer already because it’s three in the afternoon on a Thursday.

On the other hand, Derek does leave the loft for large chunks of time at random hours of the day. Stiles has no idea what the man is doing – they may be married, but they’re not _married_ – but now that he thinks about it, Derek might actually have a job. Just with the shittiest hours ever. So, retail most likely. Stiles snorts thinking about Derek trying to give fashion advice to middle-aged housewives.

“You don’t know?” Derek asks, giving him an odd look. 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “No, I know. I just like to hear myself talk.”

“You do, though,” Derek points out honestly.

Stiles has to shrug because he has a point, but that’s not _the_ point. “Come on. Do you have a job now?”

“I quit that other job last week. I’m the receptionist at the sheriff’s station now.”

Stiles stops trying to blow on his previously-frozen, now-molten-hot burrito to cool it down in favor of staring at Derek. Some of the refried beans ooze out and burn his thumb, but he hardly notices.

“Just until I can apply to the Academy,” Derek adds after a beat. He sounds kind of embarrassed, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s poking at the carrot shavings in his salad so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with Stiles. Normally Stiles would latch on to that and poke at the sore spot until Derek left the room in a huff, but his brain is kind of stuck on the fact that his fake husband and real roommate is secret friends with his dad. It’s just- it’s just weird.

“And neither one of you thought to, I don’t know, tell me about this situation?” Stiles eventually asks.

He feels like he sounds mad, but he’s not. Not really. He just doesn’t know what to make of all this. He knows it’s not fair to want his dad to just sit around and wait for Stiles to have time for him, especially now that he’s away at college for a large chunk of the year, and logically he knows he’s not being replaced, but the fact that Derek and his dad are keeping a secret from him makes him feel that way anyway.

“It’s new,” Derek says. “There wasn’t much to report. I’m sure your dad didn’t deliberately not tell you.”

“How new are we talking here?”

“Couple of days. I had applied for another job back when I got my green card, but that fell through, to answer your first question.”

Stiles nods and gets back to his burrito. That makes sense. He’s sure his dad will tell him more about it when they have lunch on Tuesday. Why wouldn’t he?

They turn their attention back to the movie for a few minutes until Stiles says, “Hey, you know if you pass the Academy and become a Deputy, you should arrest yourself for fraud.”

“Conflict of interest,” Derek says before he bites into his own burrito.

 

Stiles holds out for all of nine hours before he calls Scott.

“You like me better than Derek, right?” Stiles asks when Scott finally picks up on the fourth call.

“Of course,” Scott answers sleepily, but without hesitation. “You’re my best friend. No one is going to change that.”

“Okay,” Stiles nods, feeling a little childish and overdramatic. “Just checking.”

“What’s up?” Scott asks, sounding more awake. Stiles can hear the rustle of sheets over the phone as Scott sits up.

Stiles shakes his head. “I know it’s ridiculous, but I think my dad might be starting to like Derek better than me.”

Before Stiles can even start to explain the whole job situation, Scott says, “Dude, that is not possible. You and your dad are unshakably close. And you know a lot of people are convinced that their families like their significant others better than them, right?”

“Very funny,” Stiles says sarcastically.

“I’m serious. I mean,” Scott pauses briefly before continuing a little quitter, “I swore my mom wished Allison was her actual daughter while we were dating, but she ended up being really supportive of me when Allison and I broke up. I expected her to be mad that I let Allison go, but she just sat me down one day and told me that she was proud of me for how I was handling the whole thing, and that if I ever wanted to talk about it she was there.

So what I’m saying is, it’s normal to worry that your dad is going to like Derek better than you because _you_ like Derek a lot, but your dad is always going to be your dad, no matter what.”

Stiles lets that settle for a minute, lets himself be comforted by his friend’s words. He can’t even protest the “liking Derek” part because he _does_ like Derek. It turns out that Derek is actually an amazing roommate. Like, always does his dishes and never wakes Stiles up when he gets in late good. And he’s a surprisingly good conversationalist when he decides to be social, all witty and intelligent. Stiles is pleasantly surprised to find that he enjoys the hell out of living with Derek.

Eventually Stiles says, “Thanks, man. I needed that.”

“Any time,” Scott says, and Stiles has absolutely no doubt Scott means that completely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's very little plot to this. For that, I apologize.

**Author's Note:**

> -Code 286 is Conspiracy to Defraud the Government under Title 18 of US Law.


End file.
